


Words Left Unsaid

by LanadelBeyoncePuncher



Category: VALORANT (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Emotional Baggage, Fighting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Self-inflicted Injuries, emotional insecurity
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:27:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanadelBeyoncePuncher/pseuds/LanadelBeyoncePuncher
Summary: Yoru struggles to speak when he's at his worst.
Relationships: Phoenix/Yoru
Comments: 36
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

Yoru has been screaming into the void for as long as he can remember. 

The dark, voiceless, emotionless reflection of reality smothers his ugly tears and sobs into blissful silence. No one could interrupt his moment of weakness. No one would witness Yoru’s perfect facade falter from grace as his cool, emotionless mask was discarded. He was himself inside of the void. Another scream ripples from his core and tears through his chest. Hot, salted tears stream down his cheeks and vanish between realities. Each breath chokes its way past a tightened throat made red and rawed from hours of bawling into the cool night air. Yoru lays himself bare in this space. The all encompassing and uncaring void which surrounds his shuddering body until every last drop of moisture is wicked from swollen eyes. 

He thinks nothing of his short absence. Plenty of agents stepped out of base to buy booze, food, or even to spend a night away from metal walls and familiar faces. Yoru brushes a finger beneath his nose to stifle a small sniffle. Reddened skin marrs his eyes in small rings, though Icebox often fell below negatives after sunset. No one would look twice at someone with flushed cheeks and a runny nose. 

Yoru stops at a small set of lockers for outdoor wear and quickly slips out of his heavy snow boots in favor of his favorite pair of sneakers. He sits himself down at the foot of his locker to tend to his laces when another familiar shoe nudges the door closed. Yoru glances up at the face of his coworker, Phoenix, who offers up a rather strained smile. 

“Hey, uh, Yoru.”

“Did you forget my name again, Phoenix? It’s not that hard, you know. Even a child could remember it.,” he chastises.

“Wh-no!” Phoenix hurriedly stammers in return. “I came to see how you were holdin’ up.” 

That’s odd. Phoenix doesn’t do wellness checks. Sage is the only woman both stern and insane enough to hunt down every last agent of VALORANT for a checkup. Yoru raises a brow at the flame agent’s words. His hands snap bright orange laces tight around his ankles and twist them into perfect bows. 

“Lost a bet to Sage. I see. She’s got you doing the impossible,” Yoru knavishly snorts while rising to his feet. 

“That’s not it either. Uhm. So, I dunno if you noticed yet, but you’ve got the--the thing.” 

“Thing?”

Phoenix raises a hand to his own ear and taps twice on a small, nearly invisible piece of metal and plastic secured inside of the canal. Yoru’s heart drops beneath his feet. His hand immediately grabs at his own ear and digs around until, yes, a similar device falls loose into his palm. Yoru slowly lowers his trembling fingers to view the communication earwig. Such a small and innocuous device. Years of hiding gone in an instant. Pale fingers cinch around his earwig and crush the small device until its plastic and metal shards burrow into Yoru’s skin. Phoenix continues talking in complete oblivion to the man’s silent horror. 

“I jus’ got back from defrosting the heater. Brimstone sent me out alone, so I don’t think anyone else heard--”

Yoru tries to walk away. If he ignores Phoenix’s incessant blathering about trivial errands he runs for Brimstone, then perhaps the man will forget all the screaming heard over their communication devices. 

“Yoru? Hey, mate, wait a moment,” Phoenix calls to Yoru’s back. He sprints forward and seizes the rift agent by his pale wrist.

“Let _go_ of me, Phoenix!" Yoru all but shouts as he wrenches his arm from the flame agent’s grasp. 

“Wait, no. C’mon, you’re shakin’ mate.” 

Again, Phoenix advances another step into Yoru’s personal space and reaches out with broad hands extending open palms. If Yoru hadn’t spent several hours screaming into the void and depleting himself of energy, he may have found the strength to evade Phoenix’s persistent efforts to capture him. Warm arms ensnare Yoru’s back and shoulders in a quite secure hold against the flame agent’s chest. Yoru’s flailing limbs catch on his jacket and dig into the scorching material. 

His throat tightens. 

_No_. 

His eyes burn at the edges. 

_No no no_. 

His hands tremble as they struggle to force Phoenix back. He’s too close. The man radiates heat from head to toe like a roaring wildfire. Yoru can’t breathe. Fire smothers his every breath. It clings to his lungs and chest and licks his skin with hot tongues. He feels a sob bubbling inside of his throat. The sound steals what little of a voice Yoru still possesses and lodges itself in a place where the agent can’t reach. His words are out of reach. 

A gentle hand presses against the back of Yoru’s head and guides his face down, down to Phoenix’s shoulder sheltered in worn leather.

“Yoru. I’m here,” Phoenix whispers in a voice softer than embers. “Breathe, mate. It’s gonna be alright.” 

Yoru takes a breath. His lungs ignite. Fire burns from his chest to the inside of his throat. He forgets, for a moment, where he is. Forgets about his covetous void seeped in silence and secrecy. Yoru opens his mouth to speak, but the heat incinerates his words into ash. All that echoes from Yoru’s throat is a long, agonized sob threaded with pain and misery. His hands fall away. His knees buckle and bend. Only those warm arms entangling him in a vice-like grip prevent Yoru from collapsing into himself. 

He cries. He cries with tears he didn’t know he had left. He cries as the fire within him burns and burns and _burns_.

* * *

Phoenix takes Yoru’s wrist once the rift agent is able to stand. Neither of them say a single word to one another, much less look each other in the eyes. Yoru retains a steady gaze fixated to the flooring and not once turns his face towards Phoenix. He’s sure to hear wild stories about his pitiful, childlike sobbing tomorrow at the breakfast table. Raze will torment him. Cypher will remind him with stolen security footage. Phoenix will laugh at him for acting so uncouth and childish. 

The pair pause in their silent parade so Phoenix could open the metal door to Yoru’s assigned bedroom on-site. Yoru takes the initiative to enter first and all immediately trips over a gym bag filled with shoes, empty water bottles, and somewhat questionable towels. Dark eyes dart back and forth from the unfamiliar equipment, to a messy bed, over to a wall covered in posters that certainly didn’t belong to Yoru. This wasn’t his room at all. 

“Oh, shit. Sorry, mate. I meant to clean that up,” Phoenix quickly affirms as he jogs over and scoops up the bag. “Bed’s clean, just not made.” 

Yoru blinks. He doesn’t understand what Phoenix is attempting to do. Why did the flame agent lead him back to _his_ room instead of Yoru’s assigned bunk? Phoenix spent nearly two hours with Yoru sobbing gross snot into his jacket shoulder and then leads him back to his chaotic bedroom sans explanation? Nothing about this situation brings any sense of clarity to Yoru’s utterly exhausted mind. 

Phoenix turns on the television set to something Yoru doesn’t recognize and offers up the barest of smiles for his coworker. A broad palm takes Yoru’s hand. He stumbles along on shaky legs and into Phoenix’s mattress where he collapses face-first into a puddle of blankets and pillows. _This is wrong_. Screams a nagging voice within Yoru’s head. _You shouldn’t be here_. It shrieks and howls ferociously. 

Yoru wants to stand up. He wants to walk away from Phoenix and his messy room and his mattress covered in blankets stained with the flame agent’s scent. If he’s going to retain some shred of dignity before Phoenix for any amount of time, then Yoru knows he has to leave immediately for his own sake. For his own sanity. 

He stays. 

Phoenix carefully folds his blankets around Yoru. He sits himself down on the mattress beside him and gingerly places his hand overtop of Yoru’s knuckles. Warmth emanates from his rough palms and soaks into Yoru’s pale, cold skin. They say nothing. Phoenix turns his attention towards the television program while Yoru remains fixated on those fingers overlapping his own. Their size difference. The color. He sees scarlines beneath golden rings with thin appendages of lighter colored tissue stretching out as though seeking the sunlight. Yoru wants to feel their roughness with his own fingers. 

Subtle shifts of Yoru’s hand eventually turn his entire palm over so that Phoenix’s fingers rest within his own palm. He places a thumb over those rough knuckles and slowly rubs the skin in small circles. Warm. Rough. Broad. Yoru fiddles with a golden band. It shines with a dim, metallic sheen from the light of the television. Phoenix’s fingers come to life beneath Yoru’s curious digits and cautiously squeeze the rift agent’s hand ever so lightly. 

“Want somethin’ for dinner? I’m gonna head to the kitchen,” Phoenix says aloud as though Yoru wasn’t acutely exploring his hand. 

Yoru doesn’t meet his eyes, but he delivers one light squeeze in response. 

Phoenix pulls his hand from Yoru’s grasp and walks out of the room. He returns nary a few minutes later with two bowls stacked atop one another in one hand and a plastic key card in the other. Yoru slowly sits up beneath the blankets clinging to his form and accepts the warm bowl of noodles pushed into his hands by none other than Phoenix himself. 

"Got you noodles. Spicy, yeh? Kept 'em warm too."

Yoru doesn’t reply. He takes the chopsticks provided by Phoenix and ladens a bite of steaming noodles into his mouth. They’re made completely wrong. Weak seasoning mixes with far too much hot sauce and noodles overcooked by someone who probably used their own flames to produce them. He should be complaining about the quality of food, but Yoru finds the more noodles he swallows, the less he cares about how well the meal was crafted. It’s delicious. 

* * *

Phoenix falls asleep halfway through their second movie.

Yoru is fairly certain it has something to do with cars, though he can’t quite be sure. Every single program had passed him by in a senseless blur of motion and color. His mind was far, far from Phoenix’s bedroom and his body had sunk into the small cocoon of soft fabric swadling his form. Sleep did not stop Phoenix’s hand from curling around Yoru’s. Nor did it keep the rift agent from brushing the pads of his fingertips along the curve of Phoenix’s thumb and over his wrist where his skin was most soft. Unblemished by fighting and war. 

Yoru slowly sits up within the make-shift blanket nest. His head spins as he fights the urge to lay back down within those cozy confines and fall asleep. Everything in here is calm and quiet. A practical mirror to Yoru’s preferred sanctuary. Slowly and carefully, Yoru slides his hand away from Phoenix’s grip and rises to his feet. His legs are solid once more. Quiet footsteps creep across a floor littered with empty bottles, clothing and comics until they stop at Phoenix’s bedroom door. Yoru presses the open button beside the metal door and waits for the telltale hiss to finish before he steps into the frame. 

"Where ya goin?" 

Phoenix’s voice cuts through the soft silence like a knife. He sounds hurt, almost. 

Yoru glances over his shoulder at the sleep weary man squinting his eyes against the hall light. 

“Thank you,” he whispers as the door slowly closes behind him. 


	2. Chapter 2

Frigid air sinks its fangs into Yoru’s back and shoulders as he presses himself against one of Ice Box’s huge, metal shipping containers for cover against not just the cold, but a hail of bullets which land just inches from his hiding spot. Another mission from Brimstone turned violent when Yoru’s routine checkup on their supply crates devolved into a manic shootout with an all too familiar face. Bright blue hair. Demon print jacket. Warping abilities and insufferable attitude. Yoru loathed fighting his own clones.  
  
Dark energy swarms beneath Yoru’s right hand just before the agent launches his ability against the large box to his left and tracks its bounce until it vanishes from sight. He closes his eyes to avoid staring directly into what will be a brilliant white and blue flash of light. Enough to stun anyone for a minute. Even himself. Though, that’s exactly what _he_ would normally do in this situation. His clone is probably calculating the same exact play, so Yoru takes initiative to open his eyes early against the blinding light and catches sight of a shoe peeking around the corner.   
  
A knife is far quieter than a gun, though only for the attacker, Yoru notes to himself as he whips out his serrated blade and swings blindly around the corner. He hears himself scream in pain, feels the painful metal clip of an automatic weapon collide with his side, smells fresh blood pouring from his aggressive swing. Dark eyes snap open to watch his own figure struggle with a knife stuck several inches inside of his neck. Through sheer blind luck it hadn’t severed the clone’s jugular or slashed his windpipe, but Yoru knows it’ll only be a minute before the clone succumbs to the blood filling his throat. Yoru slams his boot down upon the clone's chest to knock him down against cold snow and unforgiving metal deck. He presses down harder just to hear his pretender wheeze in agony..

"...weak," it rasps between gritted, bloodied teeth. 

"What?" Yoru scathingly spits back. "What the hell did you call me?" 

"You...are _weak_ ," the copy repeats as it bares it's lips in a tight, crimson smile. "Not killing me. You...cannot kill...yourself. How _cowardly_." 

Yoru whips out his ghost and fires off a single bullet in between his copies' eyes. Fingers grip the gunmetal tight. Squeezing, crushing, smothering. He can't stop staring at his own face. That bloodied smile beneath dead, cold eyes. 

_You are weak._

Yoru fires again. 

* * *

Brimstone is more than pleased to hear Yoru's successful defense against his own clone went down without a single injury on the duelist's part. He gives a generic verbal praise used on everyone deemed excellent or proficient in their mission work. Yoru has heard this speech spouted off to Sova and Breach a hundred--no--a thousand times over. Brimstone's words mean nothing to Yoru. 

Much unlike those scathing jabs of character Yoru found himself subject to beneath his _own_ piercing gaze. He clenches his jaw as he steps from Brimstone's office and into the training gym open for all agents. Silence engulfs the currently unoccupied building filled with machines, punching bags, and boxing rings ready for use. Yoru narrows in on a large, blue punching bag hanging from a chain just beyond the boxing ring. Like a bull drawn by waving crimson cloth, the agent stomps through the room and tears off his own jacket which mocks him with its very presence. Those words pierce his ears once more. 

_Weak._ _Weak. WEAK._

Yoru's fist flies forward into the rough leather bag with anger boiling beneath his knuckles. He rears back and throws a left handed hook dead-center across an imaginary chest. Blue jacket. Black shirt. Blood dripping down a crooked, smirking maw. 

_You can't even kill me right._

A furious scream tears itself from Yoru's throat and through his fist, driving deep into the swinging bag with enough force to make the leather bend around his knuckles. He barely registers his own skin shearing against the inanimate bag. Pain grates along Yoru's knuckles as he throws another punch against the bag. Another left hook. Another right cross. The obnoxious clone laughs again and Yoru's vision blurs. 

He loses count of the swings, loses track of everything except the hot sting of blood and pain mixing beneath his raw knuckles. Callous laughter smothers every last rational thought until anger is all which remains. Festering and frothing at the mouth like a wild, untamed beast hungry for the kill. Yoru _hates_ the fiend wearing his face. Laughing with his voice. Mocking him as though it were a true mirror of Yoru himself. That monster was little more than a fictitious fabrication. A scrap, a shred of the man himself. What did _it_ understand? 

Yoru launches himself at the bag with fist drawn and slugs his full weight into the heavy trainer. Groaning metal snaps, dropping to the ground with Yoru following his blood soaked punch into the floor. Water bursts beneath his hand in a voluminous spray of pale liquid mixing with blood to form a weeping wound along the right hand side of the punching bag. Yoru draws in ragged breaths as he rises onto his knees above the sad, sagging bag seeping fluid all over the training room floor. 

"Uh...mate, not to interrupt, but I'm pretty sure you've already won." 

The loud voice of Phoenix pierces through Yoru's belligerent haze and mingles with the phantom laughter ringing in his ears. He rises to his unsteady feet to meet the flame agent's eyes staring down at him with concern tinted by pity. Eyes far too soft for Yoru to stomach. 

_He thinks you're weak too. After that disgusting display of weakness? How could he not?_

Yoru clenches his teeth tightly together to contain his ever boiling rage. He can't stand that look on Phoenix's face. That smile. Those kind eyes. How _dare_ he make that face after seeing Yoru destroy his target so effectively. His bloody knuckles curl into tight fists as Yoru recklessly throws himself at Phoenix. 

"You alr--" Phoenix begins to question, though the words are quick to fall the moment Yoru's fist connects with his jaw. 

Pain cascades through the flame agent's face, sending him sprawling to the floor. Yoru follows with another fist driven directly into Phoenix's chest and then another which wildly catches his shoulder. He throws up an arm to try and weather Yoru's furious battery, though the effort is rather futile beneath his fellow agent's bloody rage. Another blow to Phoenix's chest leaves behind a smear of red across his shirt and agony streaking through his body. Yoru doesn't even bat an eye. He bellows a soundless roar right in the flame agent's face and drops his elbow directly into the man's ribs. 

Bone snaps and Phoenix screams in pain as his ribs splinter and cave inward from Yoru's blow. The horrific sound is enough to stop Yoru from delivering another deviating blow by freezing him mid-swing. Chest heaving with heavy breaths, arms trembling and bloodied, Yoru stares wide-eyed at his fellow agent coughing and gasping for breath. Oh no. Few lines were to be crossed between agents. One of them being permanent physical harm to one another. Sure, Yoru could shoot Phoenix dead during his radiant power duration without consequences, but to break ribs in a one-sided fight would concur serious consequences. 

Yoru struggles to his feet just to put distance between him and Phoenix writhing in pain on the gymnasium floor. His throat tightens. He should say something. He should apologize for breaking bone. Instead, Yoru remains silent as he collects his fallen jacket and runs for the gymnasium door with his own voice mocking him as he flees.

_Coward._


	3. Chapter 3

Red rivulets stain Yoru’s pale, trembling hands held beneath the faucet of his bathroom sink. Every twitch of muscle and tendon sends another ripple of agony through the agent’s appendages held beneath cool water. It soothes a fraction of his physical pain. His hands are still sore with their memory of Phoenix’s solid body giving way to his fists. When Yoru closes his eyes he smells hot blood and hears the snap of bone ricocheting off the empty gymnasium walls. Phoenix screams in pain. Blood decorates his jacket and shirt. He’s crying. Yoru can’t bear to look.    
  
He opens his eyes to a pinkish sink basin along with injured knuckles absolved of their bloody residue. Yoru carefully removes his hands and pats each of them dry against a towel. Red continues to leak from his fresh wounds and dot the cloth with damning evidence of his crimes. From the corner of his eye, Yoru spots his reflection sporting its own blood dotted shoulders and sweat stains. He clenches his teeth at the hideous image, turning towards the shower. Off comes his shirt, his pants, his shoes and anything else stained with blood. Yoru twists his shower tap to hot for just a moment before reversing it to cold.    
  
He doesn’t want his thoughts lingering on comforting heat. Yoru forces himself to step into the ice cold shower spray with a wry grimace. The cold reminds him of Ice Box. It reminds him of night spent screaming into the void. It reminds him of bullets and blood. His own face staring up at him. Laughing at his weakness. 

Yoru quickly cleans his body of sweat and blood once more before drying off and pulling his casual sweats and undershirt. The agent collapses backwards into his crisp, perfectly folded bedsheets with a long sigh. Silence smothers the bedroom as Yoru lays still among cold linens over a firm mattress. Though his body shivers from the lack of warmth, his knuckles are exceptionally hot to the touch. Yoru closes his eyes. He vainly attempts to convince himself of the warmth being a mere side effect of inflamed skin and nothing else, but his mind wanders back to the previous week.

Screaming into the void, calling out to a beast which never returned a sound, and Yoru frozen to the bone from Ice Box's climate. A voice calls out to him. Kind. Concerned. Yoru looks away. He doesn't want to show weakness. But he's caught in that heat and in smoldering ember eyes with a smile soft around the edges. There's a bed and cheap cup noodles. A television playing nonsense. Warmth through his knuckles. His chest aches at the thought. 

Yoru snaps his eyes open and immediately rises at the sound of his metal door lock clicking open. 

"Phoenix?" He wonders aloud before he can stop himself. 

"Phoenix? Expecting someone else, were you?" Replies a snarky, confident tone not belonging to the flame agent. 

Yoru narrows his eyes. "What are  _ you _ doing here, Cypher? And how did you...nevermind." 

"Oh, the door lock is nothing, really. It's just a little bit of electricity, that's all. I came to ask you a few questions." 

Yoru is immediately on the defensive moments after Cypher mentions asking questions. It was never  _ just _ questions. The man always sought out information from everything he could get his hands on. Technology or human beings, it didn't matter to the moroccan information broker. Breaking and chipping away at defenses was his specialty. 

"About what?" Yoru spits back. 

"There was a little incident in the gymnasium tonight. Someone seems to have roughed up a fellow agent of ours. You wouldn't happen to know who beat Phoenix into a pulp, would you?" Cypher hums as though gossiping about magazine drama. 

Guilt churns in the pit of Yoru's stomach. He can't remember Phoenix's state, only the horrific scream and soft sobs of agony wrought upon him by Yoru's own hands. Surely the flame agent was alive, less Brimstone would be here to arrest Yoru for murdering one of their own. Unless he had elected to send Cypher first to chip away at his defenses. 

"Have trouble with your mission, Yoru?" Cypher asks again with the barest tilt of his head. "Your knuckles are torn." 

Yoru clenches his fingers into a tight, painful fist. Cypher shouldn't be forcing such honest reactions out of his body, but Yoru cannot stop his mask of mild disinterest slipping ever so slightly as the sentinel's questions pick at open wounds. 

Cypher steps forward to close the gap between himself and Yoru, leaving only a few inches between them. "I was terrified of Phoenix's intensity in battle, but you? If I wasn't so confident in your cowardice, I would fear for my life."

Yoru bristles at that word. "My  _ what _ ?" 

"You left him suffocating in his own blood on the gymnasium floor. You punctured his lung with his own rib. If he wasn't a radiant with abnormal regeneration, you might have killed him in less than ten minutes," the sentinel snaps back. 

Yoru doesn't know what to say. He can't remember.  _ He doesn't want to remember. _ He wouldn't have left Phoenix to die. Would he?

Cypher clicks his tongue at the agent's silence. "I suppose you're still too insecure to admit it." 

He steps back, turning on his heels as he pulls out a tripwire coin and spins it between his fingers. 

"Good night, Yoru. At least you can claim your rightful place as the most ruthless agent among us," Cypher cheerfully laughs with a tone of bitter resentment lying just underneath. "Viper would be proud." 


	4. Chapter 4

Sleep does not come easy for Yoru that night. He lays awake in his bed, fixing his gaze on the boring grey ceiling of his assigned room in the VALORANT headquarters. Cypher's questions circle through his mind in a maddening cycle. 

_You wouldn't happen to know who beat Phoenix into a pulp, would you?_

_Have trouble with your mission, Yoru?_

_You_ **_left_ ** _him._

Cypher knew. He didn't break into Yoru's room to ask questions. The sentinel already possessed his prized information, but what he didn't have was Yoru's reactions to Phoenix's condition. Sick, sadistic bastard came to see him squirm. 

"Trash spy," Yoru mutters softly to his ceiling.

Insulting Cypher doesn't make him feel any better. Phoenix is still suffering from his injuries. Most likely being tended to by a concerned Sage and frazzled Raze. Once he's able to speak, the flame agent will undoubtedly inform all of those around him of Yoru's one-sided attack. He will become more of a pariah than ever before. Not that isolation truly bothers Yoru. He doesn't need to play pranks with Raze or train with Jett. He doesn't need to discuss how to best silence an enemy with Omen or watch Killjoy attempt to teach Brimstone how to use his holographic phone for the fifth time. He doesn't need Phoenix celebrating their victories. Phoenix complaining about Yoru's careful plans. Phoenix smiling after Yoru calls him an idiot for doing something ridiculous. Yoru is perfectly fine all by himself. 

Except he doesn't _feel_ fine with those thoughts. His chest is aching so painfully that Yoru wonders if he's about to have a heart attack. He grips a hand over his chest and draws in a single, shuddering breath. 

Yoru can lose the others. He can afford to lose Raze, to lose Jett, Omen, and Killjoy. But Phoenix? The duelist had been impossible to shake from his side. Phoenix would hang around Yoru just to bullshit about nothing. Even when Yoru shot the man dead center with his pistol and sent him back to his previous revival point, Phoenix had chased after him to complain about getting shot. They bickered back and forth until Sova broke them up with a harsh chastise of their childish attitude in the locker room. Phoenix had laughed and clapped a hand on Yoru's shoulder, as though they were the best of friends. 

_'Just banter, bruv! Next time I'm gonna be the one t' finish off a clone and save this newbie's arse.'_

"Idiot," Yoru whispers to himself as his eyes slowly close. "You barely knew me." 

* * *

The next morning, Yoru rises with his alarm blaring loudly and pain coursing through his knuckles. Blood dots his bedsheets where his exposed skin lay while the agent slept. Sage will give him an earful if she finds out he was hiding an injury. Yoru slides out of bed, walks into his bathroom, and pulls back on the sink mirror to reveal a medical cabinet stacked with generic emergency supplies. Pills, gauze, antibiotics, bandaids, even several boxes of condoms and lubrication. One could never be too careful. 

Yoru grabs a small tube of ointment and squeezes a good amount onto both hands. He carefully spreads the cold medicine over his injured knuckles to ensure nothing gets infected. Next comes a wrapping of gauze around his fingers, down his knuckles, and finally stopping at Yoru's wrist. He takes painstaking care to avoid wrapping anywhere he couldn't hide beneath his dark leather gloves. 

Seeing no more use in lingering around his room for the reminder of his morning, Yoru makes a quick change into his usual outfit before stepping out of his quiet room and into the hallway. He makes a left past a few other agent bunks and turns right at the corner of the facility mess hall. He stops just before the sliding glass doors as Raze's boisterous voice resounds so loudly she may as well have been shouting. 

"And then, what, he leaves you to bleed? What the hell is that about?" 

"Iz, I'm not a baby," replies the hearty voice of Phoenix. "Sides, I provoked him. Made one too many jokes about his hair and he laid me flat." 

"Bullshit, _hermano_! He broke a rib." 

"You act like I ain't never broken nothin' before either." 

"Yeah, but that was different. That was in the field. And it wasn't from one of us." 

"Izzy, I'm not gonna tell you again. It was an accident. Yoru went too hard and I didn't stop him." 

"Why?" Raze pushes as Yoru hears their voices suddenly drop to a quiet conversation. 

He can't hear what Phoenix says next. Part of Yoru doesn't _want_ to know. He has already stood outside of the kitchen listening in with ears burning at the gossip being spread around. Cypher is undoubtedly Raze's source of information. Who knew how many other agents were aware of his involvement? Yoru collects each of those thoughts in a tight bundle and swallows them down, down into his growling stomach. He forces himself to walk casually into the kitchen and right into Raze's intense whisperings. 

She immediately straightens up at the kitchen table where her tools and half-finished breakfast lay in messy piles. Phoenix is standing beside her with a mug of coffee in hand and dressed down in his casual clothing. Simple tee shirt and sweats. 

Dark eyes latch on Yoru's every movement across the kitchen. He feels Phoenix's eyes burning holes into his fists and face from across the room. There's an uncomfortable silence between them. Unspoken apologies, or perhaps, a denial of Phoenix's suffering in the ugly aftermath of Yoru's unexplained rage unleashed upon his friend. What was that man thinking? Exactly what kind of thoughts resided in that head adorned by a flaming crown of locks, Yoru could not say. All he could do is nod ever so slightly towards the taller man. 

"What? Did you let Raze eat all of the breakfast foods again?" Yoru snorts with a cold tone. 

"Not like I would have shared any with you," Raze mumbles through an entire flapjack she shovels into her mouth.

"Er, no," Phoenix replies with an ever so slight hesitation in his tone. "Just talkin' about stuff. Coffee?"

"Black," Yoru orders without allowing his mask to slip even an inch. 

Phoenix nods at the request and turns his attention to their little coffee maker crafted by Killjoy herself. It sings an electronic tune while it pours a serving of piping hot, black coffee into the awaiting mug below. Yoru walks past Raze furiously devouring her pancakes and leans against the counter where Phoenix waits for the coffee machine to finish. He turns his gaze ever so slightly to glance at the flame agent's profile. Every last inch of Yoru's violence had been scrubbed away by Sage's radiant ability, but not the heavy guilt which settled deep in Yoru's gut. He still can't believe Phoenix is acting as though nothing happened between them. 

Happy chimes break up Yoru's intense thoughts, reminding him to avert his eyes from Phoenix as the man grabs his coffee mug. 

"One black coffee. Dunno how you drink it straight, but I guess it's somethin'," Phoenix says aloud with a bit of mirth to his smile. 

Yoru reaches for it absentmindedly and feels not only the hot mug beneath his fingers, but Phoenix's skin as well. In the blink of an eye everything crashes down. The mug slips out of Phoenix's hand and without Yoru aware enough to grab it, he's left turning in slow motion as the mug hits the floor and shatters into fragments while spilling hot, dark coffee all over the kitchen floor. Phoenix _flinches_. Yoru feels his throat tighten like a vice at the knee-jerk reaction. His eyes betray the bewilderment at Phoenix's sudden action because in the next moment, the flame agent is backing up with his hands raised in apology.

"Sorry...mate!" The words come out forced and almost too submissive for Yoru to stomach. "I'm gonna get a broom." 

Phoenix leaves no room for argument as he all but bolts out of the kitchen and around the corner. Yoru stands stock still, his guilt nailing his feet to the floor as hot coffee soaks into his shoes. A chair scrapes across the tile flooring as Raze shoves a hand against Yoru's shoulder and all but slams him up against the counter. In her hand, a screwdriver and a furious snarl upon her face. 

"Cypher told me what you did to him. If you know what's best, you will _stay away_ from Phoenix," Raze venomously threatens.

Yoru raises his arm against the young woman's throat and pushes back until she staggers away from his personal space. Both parties are left glaring at one another as Raze grabs her tools, runs out of the kitchen, and disappears the very same way Phoenix had taken off down the hall. Once more, Yoru is left all alone with the broken pieces of a fallen coffee mug and his reflection staring back at him in a dark splatter of liquid. 

"I'm sorry," Yoru whispers to no one but himself. 

* * *

In the end, Phoenix and Raze never return. Yoru cleans up the shards of ceramic and spilled coffee from the tile floor on his own. He knows he should eat, but the moment he reaches for another mug his stomach churns heavily with guilt. Phoenix's body flinching away from his own at the slightest touch. Yoru declines the second try at coffee.

His time alone is mercifully cut short when Brimstone's voice booms over the intercom system, calling for all inactive agents to report to the briefing room for their next mission. Yoru lightly jogs down the hallways of their base and into the meeting room where Raze and Phoenix are already seated at a large table surrounded by black leather chairs. Aside from those two, the only other agent not participating in an operation is Sova, who sits at attention. Yoru makes a point to sit as far from everyone at the table as possible. 

"Okay, good morning everyone. Hate to call you in short staffed, but we got a situation," Brimstone says as he pulls up footage of Reyna and Omen running from a storage facility with a spike nestled between Omen's claws. 

"I'm assumin' that ain't our loveable sweater-knitter," Phoenix says aloud. 

"No, it's not," the general confirms. "Omen and Reyna both clocked in their positions at Split this morning. They're dealing with a dangerous Phoenix clone obsessed with setting everything on fire." 

The real Phoenix clicks his tongue as he leans back in the leather chair. "I would never use my fire like that. S'just a waste!" 

"This is a quick extraction mission. Get in, get the spike, get out. We've made it difficult for them to escape Ice Box temporarily, but the defenses won't last forever."

Brimstone looks up from his presentation and points to Yoru first. 

"Yoru, you take point. Ice Box is your speciality." 

The duelist nods and stands up, but Brimstone isn't quite finished. He points to Phoenix as well and both agents freeze in their spots.

"Phoenix, you're anchor. The two of you should be more than enough firepower to handle Reyna and Omen." 

"Uh...you sure, bruv? What about Sova?" Phoenix stammers ever so slightly as he puts on a strained smile for Brimstone. 

"No, I need Sova here. This mission could turn into a radiant battle and Sova isn't equipped for that. Neither are you, Izzy," Brimstone insists just as the young woman stands up. 

She huffs indignantly and sits herself back down.

"No more questions. Yoru, Phoenix, move out. Raze, Sova, I want you on perimeter checks. Keep your eyes and ears open just in case." 

Discussion is all but off the table the moment Brimstone orders the agents to their posts. Yoru and Phoenix are indeed the strongest radiant based agents currently residing in base. He has no ability to argue there. However, Yoru wonders what cruel coincidence forces Phoenix to work with the same man who beat him to near death just a day before. It seems almost ironic to be lacing up shoes and reloading pistols beside one another as though they were still fellow agents in arms. Yoru feels the tension in the air before they depart from the base. He swears his shoes are stepping around eggshells ready to break at the slightest brash step. Phoenix has not uttered a single word since the meeting and Yoru knows it must be himself who crushes that first shell.

_Apologize._

Yoru tells himself. Now that he and Phoenix are running from base towards the maze-like storage facility where Omen and Reyna prowl in search of a way out. He should tell Phoenix that he didn't mean to hurt him so badly. His chest aches painfully, his guts churn, his throat is tight and raw, but Yoru fights to push a word through. Something. _Anything._

"You're a terrible barista," he manages to spit out, much to his own abject mortification. 

Phoenix pauses, just for a moment, forcing Yoru to stop as well as the two lock eyes amid the snowy storage facility. He knits his brows together, like he's trying to process Yoru's words before breaking out into a cheeky smile. 

"At least I have some taste in my coffee," the flame duelist chuckles. 

"Black _is_ a taste," Yoru corrects as he picks up the pace again. 

"What? No, black is like, eatin' the beans. That's gross!" 

"What are you, five?" 

"Twenty five and someone who is well accustomed to seasoning their drinks." 

Yoru snorts back a small laugh as he draws in a deep breath of cold Ice Box air. Though their banter is short and sweet, Yoru has never felt such a swell of relief coursing through his body. Just a shred of normalcy between them, backed by the possibility that Phoenix may yet remain an ally to Yoru is enough to distract the man for just a minute. Long enough to forget that he and Phoenix were on a dangerous mission against clones of their fellow agents who couldn't be taken lightly. 

Shadows emerge from nothing and engulf both Phoenix and Yoru within an unnaturally dark sphere, snuffing out the sun for both agents. Yoru immediately pulls out his ghost, finger hovering over the trigger, as he hears the click of a weapon right behind him. Whipping around, Yoru points his gun directly at the sound, only to be met with Phoenix's panicked face as he's left reloading his magazine.

"Woah, woah, woah, I don't have my powers ready, mate!" He quietly protests.

"They know we're here. I need you to do that stupid point run you always do," Yoru curses while snapping from one angle to another in case Omen gets too close. 

"It's not stupid!"

"Phoenix, just...give me space to find Reyna," Yoru commands as his voice tapers off into a much softer plea.

Phoenix falls silent at the shift in Yoru's tone, but gives his fellow agent a small nod as both men hear a click before the spitfire of a vandal rattles into their shadow sphere. The flame agent takes evasive action to the left, stepping out of the shadows and vanishing right before Yoru's eyes as the bullet spray chases after Phoenix. There's no time to loiter around wondering what kind of trouble Phoenix is getting himself into. Yoru _has_ to find that spike. Channeling his radiant powers into his fingertips, Yoru rips apart reality to reveal half of a blue oni mask floating ominously within the void. He grabs said mask and places it on his face before stepping into the tear and vanishing from sight.

Silence greets his ears in the beyond. Omen's gunfire is but a muted purr in the background as Yoru emerges from the fading sphere and steps past the other agents. His footfalls make thin prints in fresh snow, but otherwise leave no trace the agent was ever there. Each step takes Yoru further into a winding maze crafted from metal shipping containers and outposts. His gaze snaps from left to right, searching for Reyna and the aforementioned spike. It's not until Yoru reaches the very edge of the facility that he finds a shimmering, hard light barrier preventing Reyna from leaping off the edge and into a waiting transport boat below. Her spike pouch is strapped around her hips while the woman herself fires a seemingly endless spray of bullets into the barrier. The hard light field shudders and strains to withstand Reyna's concentrated fire in one position. Yoru knows the barriers are strong, but not enough to repel constant fire on a single pressure point. She stops firing before Yoru can get within solid execution range and raises her head, as though listening to someone else speaking through her ear. 

_"Shouldn't be long now, Omen. I almost have the barrier broken."_

Silence on Reyna's end of the transmitter for a moment as she waits on Omen's response. 

_"Why are you wasting time on that one? Kill him and find Yoru."_

Yoru’s stomach knots at clone Reyna’s callous words. He immediately steps back from the woman and presses a hand against his own communicator to radio Phoenix. The flame agent’s reckless behavior always meant he could get himself into danger, but Yoru wasn’t _there_ to bail him out.  
  
“Phoenix, come in. What is your status?” Yoru whispers into his communicator.  
  
Instead of receiving a loud complaint, or the sound of gunfire prattling past Phoenix’s head, Yoru is answered with a wordless gasp. His chest clenches painfully as the pained noise draws him back to the fight. His knuckles ache from the phantom pains and Yoru fights against his urge to buckle beneath the guilt still nestled in his gut. The communicator comes to life once more for Yoru to hear one raspy word from Phoenix.  
  
 _“Spike…”_  
  
Right. The spike. If Yoru allows Reyna and Omen to escape the Ice Box with such a dangerous tool, their situation could easily turn into Italy all over again. Whatever trouble Phoenix had gotten himself into, he could sort out on his own. After all, the flame agent could be shot dead and still return to life moments later in a completely unharmed state. Yoru could leave Phoenix to fend for himself while he took down Reyna. It’s the right call to make.  
  
Yoru takes a single, deep breath and takes off in a dead sprint away from Reyna.

Damn it all. Damn it. Damn it. Yoru can’t stop his legs from carrying him farther from his target with each step, nor can he keep his mind off anything but Phoenix. He remembers the agent inside of the shadow sphere with his hand up. _I don’t have my powers ready, mate._ Omen fires. Phoenix runs. Yoru doesn’t remember seeing Phoenix’s tell-tale flare of fiery ribbons licking at his jacket as the man activates his radiant powers. If the duelist was fighting Omen without his backup plan, then a single misstep could lead to his death. Yoru pushes himself forward faster, even as his body aches from the strain of being sequestered in a separate dimension for such a long period of time. 

He has to find Phoenix.


End file.
